


Eight

by fluorescentgrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Depression, M/M, Rodeo AU, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluorescentgrey/pseuds/fluorescentgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the American tradition the rider must stay atop the bucking bull for eight seconds. It has been called the most dangerous eight seconds in sports."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight

When Sirius leant into the chute he could smell the shivering animal and Remus’s sweat and the oil with which he cleaned his leathers. The fringe was fanned about Remus’s long legs over his Wranglers and he held tight with one gloved hand to the chute rail and with the other to the braided flank strap secured around the lower belly of the animal and the breeze came through across the arena, smelling like fireworks. The bull thrashed in the pen and several pairs of hands shoved it down to its stamping feet again. James was holding tight to Remus about the chest to keep him steady.

The announcer was talking above the fray of the bull’s snorts and the jostle of chains and fabric and he said Remus’s name and the name of the bull he was riding and the town he came from northwards in the province and the crowd erupted in cheers. A few cameras were jostling close by and Sirius knew on the big screen they showed Remus as he looked now, which he’d long thought jealously was a look no one else should ever see. Beneath the lattice of his helmet Remus had his eyes closed in perfect concentrated calm and his mouth was just open and he was very still. He was so still it seemed like there was no sound in the world and in the quietude Sirius sent the usual prayer to whoever. He was holding a flat of timber between the bull and the wall so its bulk wouldn’t crush Remus’s leg.

LET’S HEAR IT FOR OUR VERY OWN ALBERTA BOY the announcer shouted and the crowd erupted once more, and Sirius watched the spotlights sweep them; in the light the faces blurred into one mass of white flesh. Remus lifted his chin and opened his eyes and they met Sirius’s, and inside was a grey-golden light soft and streaming through a long-ago window, and in it Sirius did not see Remus nod his assent to the handlers to open the gate. It felt like something amputated when the bull thrashed and spun and tore the eyes away.

\--

They all met as children. Sirius did not get on with his family thus looked elsewhere for ranch work and found it north of Edmonton, just outside Athabasca, with a huge cow and calf operation owned by this guy Albus Dumbledore. He had employed James and Peter’s fathers and hired the boys too when they came of age. By that time of course James had been roping cattle since he was seven years old. Peter grew up with enough brawn to tackle and wrestle them from horseback to be branded or vaccinated. Remus was from an old family of horsemen in Red Deer but he said the city made him sick to look at so he’d branched out looking for ranch work. Rumor abounded to the contrary and some said Remus had left Red Deer after suffering some kind of nervous collapse that made every rancher in those parts reluctant to hire him despite his lineage. Dumbledore could have cared less if he even knew in the first place considering Remus even at thirteen seemed to have absolutely no fear of death nor pain and would dive headfirst into just about any task that was set upon them no matter the risk to life or limb. In the shared bathroom in the staff lodgings Sirius saw him take medicine at night and did not comment.

A few months after his hiring Sirius begged Dumbledore to sign him up in a nearby junior rodeo competition in calf roping and saddle bronc riding. Unbeknownst to him Dumbledore had already signed up about half the staff at their own prompting. In the roping Sirius lost to James by 0.3 seconds and the bronc threw him after two jumps. He landed hard on his ass and fractured his tailbone. It was the first and last time he rode an animal in a show.

Remus stayed on his heifer past the eight second mark and in fact he hung on for eleven seconds before he bailed by which time he was holding on with his left hand only. He was hardly yet fourteen and his voice was creaky. No one else in the bracket managed to stay on to the eight second mark and Remus was given an envelope of cash and a beautiful bronze trophy that looked like a Remington reproduction. He rode around the arena doffing his black hat behind two cowgirls in red sequined tops as “Oh Canada” played triumphantly over the loudspeakers. In the presentation ceremony the announcer asked Remus what he was thinking on the back of the heifer and he said, “Nothing.” The crowd laughed and Remus flushed. He looked every inch a little cowboy. His hair was sweaty and his hatbrim was shoving his bangs down into his eyes on account of it was too large to begin with. His sore wrists had been bound in white medical tape by the infield medics. He wore his leathers emblazoned with the ranch brand and the Canadian maple leaf and he was unconsciously twisting the colorful fringe in his nervousness. Clipped to the back of his vest was his surname and competition number – LUPIN 106 – and under it he wore a pale denim shirt that in fact belonged to Sirius; they had an identical pair, except Sirius’s was a size bigger, and they had confused them in the wash. The announcer said “Nothing at all?”

“Just stayin on,” said Remus, and the crowd laughed again. He smiled a bright white slice across the shadow under his hat. This was a lie; he had told Sirius it felt like his mind going blank completely. Like a flat white slate in there, like a snowfield; just his own heartbeat and the sound of the heifer’s hooves against the ground. Peace, he had said. Funny because Sirius had felt a screaming fear. In his own mind: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD – and then the pony threw him and he was glad to go.

“Now Remus,” said the announcer, “just one more question.” He had his arm about Remus’s shoulders. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

Sirius, sitting on a pillow in the stands, flinched and prayed James didn’t notice; they were sitting close enough to touch thighs. On the big TV Remus looked bewildered. He had kissed Sirius for the first time behind the barn three days previous then again in Sirius’s room when they were alone there watching TV just the night before, and that time Remus had opened his mouth, just a little. He tasted like chocolate ice cream, which he had been eating, except warm, and he rested his hand against Sirius’s shoulderblade like a moth. Then they pulled apart, and Remus looked down, and he said, “Good luck tomorrow.” Now he was looking about the stands from the announcer’s podium and Sirius’s heart leapt for some reason, but then Remus said “No,” without catching his eye. But on the big TV he was smiling just a little about the mouth. Sirius’s heart stayed high up in his throat even if he was wildly jealous of James, with his trophy and envelope of winnings, who was wolf-whistling earsplittingly.

\--

It took three more shows for Sirius to win at calf roping against James, who argued it was only because he’d fumbled the rope. It was in the junior competition of a big rodeo in Lethbridge. Whatever had happened it was enough to give Sirius a 0.4 second lead over the rest of the competition, and that was enough that James did not speak to him for a week. Remus won again at the heifer riding; no one else in their bracket could hold on for four seconds let alone the required eight and especially not twelve, which was Remus’s record. His score was an even 85. He’d ridden a heifer named Crown Victoria and when she threw him after ten or so seconds her hind hooves came right down again inches from Remus’s forehead. It was enough that Sirius broke out instantly in a cold sweat at the sight and seconds later he ran to the washroom to vomit loudly in the toilet. By this time he knew what Remus looked like naked and what he looked like coming and he knew he couldn’t bear the sight of Remus’s brains in the dust because he fancied himself In Love. Cowboys die doing rodeo, Dumbledore had explained. Of course they did; that was almost the fun of it, was it not? Of those in the stands did a contingent not attend out of a morbid voyeurism? Sirius cleaned himself up and went back out to the stands where James was pouting in a corner and Remus was doing his victory lap, beaming aback his dappled pony, sweaty hat held aloft like a flag. At the end of the proceedings Remus and Sirius and Peter, who had handily won the steer wrestling competition, accepted their matching trophies, smiling for the photographer of the Calgary paper.

At night Remus got in bed with Sirius still in all his clothes having not showered and smelling like cow and horse and sweat, which Sirius admitted he kind of liked. He was fifteen though and thus probably would have liked anything related to his getting off. It had been over a year since the first time they had kissed and soon they would both be old enough to compete outside the junior bracket. Sirius had seen Remus ride bulls on the ranch but he never had in competition. The juniors rode heifers; they could be nasty but they had no horns. With a bull goring was in the mix plus another five hundred pounds at least in heft and a broader back and a flexing hackled spine.

Remus lay next to him in the tiny bed so close Sirius could feel his heartbeat, which seemed fast. “Didn’t roll,” he said finally, but in his voice there was a thing, like an edge of thrill. “Should’ve rolled.”

“Damn right.”

“Good show from you,” Remus said, deflecting. “James is livid.”

“He’s embarrassed that he fumbled.” Sirius was trying to be cool about it but in fact it concerned him greatly and he felt almost guilty for having won. It startled him to realize how much he valued James’s friendship and competition. Before Remus’s arrival in his bed he’d been wishing there was another event he was any good at. They slept next to each other in their clothes, too knocked out from the adrenaline to attempt anything else, and when Sirius woke up Remus was gone. He was out in the paddock with Peter and Dumbledore branding the new calves.

\--

He realized Remus had been right about the blankness. Having won once in a calf roping tournament boosted his confidence and he honed his craft. It was less than a second of deep concentration to lasso the little thing while it ran, then it was just muscle memory. Dismount – run, tackle and flip. The rope looped, looped, tucked and tugged – stand, hands up, back away. Then everything would focus again and he would go out of his body and back into his brain. James was saddled and ready in the lineup looking rather constipated and the crowd was cheering and the announcer boomed SIRIUS BLACK OF ATHABASCA ALBERTA LADIES AND GENTLEMEN SIXTEEN YEARS OLD CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

The first time Remus rode a bull in competition he stayed on nine seconds before it flung him and he landed hard, shattering his left ankle. He didn’t get up because he couldn’t. The thing came at him with horns, head lowered like an angry bear. Sirius was drunk and the whole affair seemed like a bad dream. Before his eyes in the ring it unfolded in slow motion. Remus pushed himself back with his palms and elbows and the bullfighters got between him and the animal and the medics came out and helped Remus off the field. In the closeup on the big TV his face was gray and his mouth very thin. Still he got an 87 and thus won handily. He accepted the award standing on one foot and leaning on a crutch. His winnings went to surgery which was performed in Edmonton. Sirius fell asleep by the hospital bed and woke up when Remus, high as fuck on intravenous painkillers, started talking to him, probably hardly realizing he was speaking aloud.

“Still alive?” he asked Sirius.

“Yeah,” Sirius told him, “we both are. You’ve had surgery.”

Remus looked around blearily at the room packed as it was with floral arrangements and balloons and a giant stuffed bull, a gift from James and Peter. Then he looked at Sirius. “Goddammit,” he said sleepily. Then he was out again.

\--

The rodeo in Moose Jaw was a three-day affair and though they would all compete on the second day in the hopes of making the finals on the third they arrived on the first to watch the barrel riding, in which a girl named Lily Evans was competing. She was the Canadian champion, hailing from just down the road in Swift Current, with a head of wild red hair and legs for days; she chewed tobacco but her teeth were somehow still lovely and James professed to be dearly in love with her though she held him and seemingly most men in utter contempt. As they arrived at the arena the announcer was riling up the crowd for the saddle bronc – “Are y’all ready to see some buckin horses?”

James turned to Peter and Remus and Sirius who walked behind him. They were all four seventeen and thought they were hot shit. “Are y’all ready to see some fuckin buckin horses?”

Remus’s ankle had managed to heal but still he walked with a cowboy’s bandy-legged swagger on account of his many injuries engendering a constant ache in his legs and back. James had the swagger too but his was mostly exaggerated. They had all left their good leathers in the truck and wore their Wranglers and boots and they showed off with their belt buckles. Sirius’s declared him Alberta Calf Roping Champion of the Year; and so did James’s, because he had won the year before. Remus had the bullriding buckle procured in Edmonton that had cost him his ankle and Peter’s was from Lethbridge, where he made a good show year after year. They all had Dumbledore’s ranch’s insignia on a clip in their hatbrims.

Lily Evans rode incredibly, hardly lashing her pony, coming in low low low around the barrels, so low Sirius could have sworn her boot touched the ground. The crowd screamed; she was a local girl. The loudspeaker played the Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” appropriately, because James was just about panting. She barreled out of the arena with a 17.4 so she was guaranteed for the finals, then she came to stand with them in the bleachers, not winded, not hardly having broken a sweat, holding a green pint box of saskatoonberries she’d picked up on the midway. “Gentlemen,” she said, pointedly not in James’s direction.

“Lils,” said Peter, reaching into the pint box.

“Looked good out there,” said Remus. She shook his hand, then Peter’s, then Sirius’s. She would not touch James with a ten foot pole. Her eyes were bright green but steely.

“Y’all lookin forward?” she asked, mouth was full of berries.

“Remus drew Blue Steel,” said Peter. He referred to a notorious bull with a legendary bloodline from a ranch near Medicine Hat.

Lily’s eyebrow cocked. “Champion versus champion.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Sirius turned and watched Dorcas Meadowes, a gangly First Nations girl from from Flin Flon, in the ring. She was behind Lily’s time by a click but she was good; she’d make the finals and she’d give Lily a right run. Sirius could hardly think about it – before they had left the ranch Dumbledore had pulled him aside and said, “Keep an eye on Remus.” Somewhat blindsided by the advice Sirius had snuck a peek at the medication at Remus’s bedside for the first time in their four-year acquaintance. Anxiety pills, depression pills. Pills to increase the effectiveness of the depression pills. Pills to ease the nausea caused by the anxiety pills. He did not feel the guilty pang of the betrayal inside the screaming fear. It was the same as his attempt at bronc riding – his stomach kept plummeting even when it seemed like it had fallen to the bottom. That you could die in this sport was the thrill of it. That it would maim you – even if you were never gored you’d get bucked, you’d get thrown, you’d break this, fracture that, shatter this, it would build up and up until none of you had been forever whole – certainly seemed like the kind of Faustian repercussion you’d inherit when the devil gave you the skill to ride wild animals. Sirius had laid awake in the dark and thought about it. For him the thrill of rodeo was in coming face-to-face with death in its bovine form and then lancing away like a boomerang. For Remus the thrill seemed to be getting close enough to death you could feel what it might be like.

Sirius still fancied himself In Love and yet had not said anything to the effect. He and Remus rarely talked about their arrangement in any detail. They had conversations like,

“Can I –”

“What?”

“Um. Do you want to.”

“Oh. Yeah – okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Okay, yeah, okay, okay.”

“Ah – ”

“Just – fucking – come on, do it, alright?”

These were conversations regarding chores about the farm and regarding sex. They were neither of them men of many words, of course they weren’t, they were cowboys.

He remembered lying on his back inside Remus who was astride his hips and he said, “Should I buck?”

Remus laughed wildly and Sirius shifted and he moaned and his back arched forward like a weeping willow or like the spine of a good bucking horse mid-kick. “You couldn’t – ” said Remus, breathless, head hanging, “you couldn’t fuckin throw me off – no matter how – _fuck_ – "

The light was golden; it was just past dawn. Somewhere there was a forest fire and the smoke was a violet grey in the air. There had been calves just born that would need branding, and then they would have to ride far out onto the range and check up on the fences.

Sirius had this inkling he knew hardly anything about Remus beyond his body. But then, it seemed Remus knew very little about himself beyond his body. Likely he thought it was the smartest part of him, and he didn’t like living inside his own brain. No one does.

Remus’s thighs and belly were so strong from riding and his eyes were closed. He had red scars all over from surgery or compound fractures or narrowly dodged horns and Sirius thought of the French word – cicatrice – while he touched them. He knew Remus liked that though he never would have admitted to it aloud. This one was from Edmonton, Sirius thought, feeling the ridge of it, trying to stave off coming, remembering, in blurry slow motion, Remus in the air, Remus on the ground with a puff of dust, the thrashing muscular head of the animal. This one was from Lethbridge, this one – fuck – this one – was from Regina – this one – “You couldn’t,” Remus said, again, not more than a whisper now, and Sirius could feel him, inside and out, trembling like aspen, “No matter how hard you fuckin tried, Sirius –” Then he came, and then Sirius did, watching him.

He could not begin to fathom how he would broach the subject even though the question was very simple – are you okay? And besides he thought he already knew the answer. James and Peter and Lily were talking about her competition in the barrel riding field but Remus was watching at the stock in the far paddock, shading his eyes with one hand, in search of the beast he’d drawn.

\--

As the night fell they watched a bunch of tough farm girls compete at the women’s calf roping. The stadium was relatively empty – the crowd was waiting for the more dangerous events tomorrow and the finals the day after – but those in attendance cheered exuberantly for the locals. Lily had left in disgust for some reason, pursued by James who had presumably offended her and was thus presumably begging forgiveness, and Peter had gone off in search of beer, as most of the refreshment stands had closed. Sirius had been drinking for a few hours and was woozy with the alcohol and the heat and he hardly heard it when Remus said “That girl could beat you likely.”

Her name was Bellatrix Lestrange and she was in fact Sirius’s estranged cousin who had married very young onto an extremely wealthy ranch in Manitoba. She moved sinuously and when she won her category she rode her victory lap about the ring pursuing the cowgirls with very little expression on her cold face as she saluted the crowd like an insane empress. “She probably could,” said Sirius. “At least she’d beat James too.” Remus smiled at the ground without much feeling in it. He kicked the rail with his boot and it rang dully.

The mounted camera had found them without their noticing and with shock Sirius realized that his own face was reproduced massively on the big screen across the field, and that the pixilation made his acne scars very apparent. He silently thanked whoever that he and Remus were not standing too close together, and he heard the announcer acknowledge them – NO DOUBT CHECKING OUT THE FINE YOUNG LADIES OF THIS COMPETITION… YOU’LL BE WANTING TO COME ON BACK TO SEE THESE BOYS COMPETE TOMORROW… Sirius waved and Remus raised his hand in greeting like the pope. THE LONG-HAIR’S SIRIUS BLACK, boomed the announcer, THE ALBERTA TIE-DOWN ROPING CHAMPION OF THE YEAR… AND TO HIS LEFT OUR LOONY LUPIN… LADIES AND GENTLEMEN YOU AIN’T NEVER SEEN SUCH A FEARLESS BULLRIDER…

The rodeo announcers and press had started calling Remus “Loony” on account of how much money he won and also on account of the fact that he did indeed seem certifiably insane. When he got thrown sometimes he just wouldn’t move for a second, even if nothing was wrong. He would lie in the dust as the animal stamped and tossed its massive bulk, and seemingly at the final possible second the bullfighters would intervene, or he’d roll away. You could hear the audience screaming in shock and fear and then the pitch of it would change in their amazement and then it would shift entirely to wild cheers.

There was a polite smattering of applause and the camera moved away to the next tie-down roping competitor, who was spitting tobacco in the chute. Sirius was drunk enough to attempt a joke about the announcer’s suggestion they were scoping cowgirls but he bit his tongue. Remus kicked the rail again. “Did you ever think you’d be a rodeo star?” Sirius asked him instead.

“No,” said Remus, “I thought I’d be dead by now.”

“From doin rodeo?”

“I don’t know. Somehow.”

Perhaps it was not the time. Someone walked behind them selling cotton candy and the burnt sugar smell was nauseating. In the ring the competitor missed her lasso and the next girl was gearing up as the wranglers chased the loose calf down. Still Sirius mustered his bravery or whatever and he asked Remus, “You trying to set it up or something?”

The crowd was roaring – it seemed as though the new girl in the ring had beaten Bellatrix’s record – but Sirius couldn’t look. Remus had fixed him with the big shocked eyes he saved for rare occasions. “Am I trying to kill myself?” Remus clarified, a little too loudly. He leant toward Sirius, his face hollow in the shadow. “Aren’t we all?”

\--

They walked to the outskirts of the grounds in stony silence and fucked against the inside wall of their stock trailer. All the animals were in the corral anyway, and lying on the corrugated floor was uncomfortable. The hay stuck your skin and would leave welts so the wall was better. They knew this because they had done it on many occasions before as they were always obliged to share a hotel room with James and Peter when they travelled to do rodeos. It was very hot in the trailer and Remus’s breath sounded very loud because they were standing so close.

“They’re right about Red Deer,” said Remus, just a disturbance of air in Sirius’s ear. He was standing on tiptoe in his boots so Sirius could work a hand into his Wranglers. He never wore underwear and Sirius could feel the frieze of an old scar on his upper thigh, a fine sheen of sweat, the soft hair, the skin, muscle shifting in tiny increments. His Edmonton belt buckle clunked to the floor then Sirius’s did, leather coiling like snakes.

“What happened?”

He was trying to coax it out like venom but Remus didn’t quite answer. “I thought it was better,” he said, “but it doesn’t go away. Nothing works. Except.”

“Your pills?”

“Hardly.” He swallowed thickly. “It goes away for eight seconds. When it comes back again – ” his breath caught – “hurts like hell. I can’t move cause it’s so damn heavy.”

\--

In the early afternoon Sirius fumbled in the calf roping and his time barely qualified him for the next day’s finals. His conscious mind had reared up into the muscle memory and it had dearly cost him but now it was over and done and there was nothing he could do about it except wait for tomorrow. James had the fastest time in the roping bracket and Peter had managed third in the cattle wrestling. In the early evening under the purpling sunset sky they all gathered about chute six where Remus would ride Blue Steel, who was already penned in and snorting, flanks shining with sweat in the floodlights. Remus himself was pacing the way he always did before he rode, hands on his hips, watching at his boots, breathing hard through his nose. Other cowboys around the ring were praying to God. It was a rowdy crop of bulls and only two of the riders had managed to stay on to the required eight seconds. One of them was the reigning world champion having been crowned so in Las Vegas a few months previous; they had all gathered around the television to watch him ride. He could hold on a while but he made it look like a superhuman feat. Remus made it look easy. The judges had given him and his stock an 85; a great score, but Remus could beat it.

One of the handlers came over to the gate to give a heads-up and shortly thereafter the announcer began to introduce Remus as the loudspeaker played “Crazy Train.” He climbed into the chute with a grasshopperlike unfolding of limbs and settled onto the rippling back of the animal; the rest assumed their positions. James was holding Remus about the shoulders and Sirius held the lumber between the bull’s flank and the wall and Peter and Lily had their hands braced against the thrashing weight of the creature as though their combined three hundred fifty pounds would have even the slightest consequence.

There were cameras about, swarming disparate eyes. James and Peter and Lily were all speaking soft encouragements to Remus and to the animal and the bullfighters were talking together out in the ring beyond the gate and the bull itself grunted and rolled its white eyes and tossed its massive head. On the field the clown did a few handsprings in the dust. FROM ATHABASCA ALBERTA – the announcer was screaming and the crowd cheered a ripple-roar like a crashing wave and in the song Ozzy laughed maniacally – CANADA’S VERY OWN LOONY LUPIN, WATCH THIS BOY, SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ABACK THE MEANEST ANIMAL YOU’VE YET SEEN…

Remus secured the flank strap and tucked his glove into it and closed his eyes. Sirius knew he was hearing nothing at all, or maybe he was counting seconds, and languorously he shifted his long body back, reclining spine-to-spine, gloved hand cupped, as though he beckoned for something. The flare of lust and jealousy and fear in Sirius’s heart had become customary. Unfamiliar was a crystal-clear thought like an edge of glass: please not this time. Please get up this time.

“Ready when you are kid,” said the man at the gate above the fracas.

Remus opened his eyes and nodded, and the gate ripped open with a cacophony of chain and metal. He and the huge gray animal moved like one spinning whirlwind flesh into the ring with Remus’s hand thrown aloft as though he were casting benediction… The creature leapt forward and threw its whole body in the air and Remus moved with it like water pursued by the bullfighters darting about like hummingbirds in red and at centerfield the clown who sprung into cartwheels… Sirius did not hear the screaming of the crowd inside his own heartbeat in his ears, and he was not watching at the clock; he was counting – one – two – three – four – five – six – seven – eight –

\--------

**Author's Note:**

> this story is dedicated to K ([taupefox59](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59)). it was written in 24 hours after i went to my first ever rodeo in calgary, alberta. the crowd went nuts for every canadian competitor. this was written with just a cursory knowledge of rodeo and very unreliable internet ie. not much fact-checking, so please feel free to call me out or correct me on anything i've gotten wrong. i think this will be indeed a "one shot" as we used to call them.


End file.
